


(Lookin' Good) When You're Half Dressed

by dizzzylu



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Butt Plugs, Clothes Sharing, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Implied Barebacking, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt by sparseparsley: <i>J2M with any sort of clothes sharing. Accidental, intentional, prank, whatever.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	(Lookin' Good) When You're Half Dressed

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to S for the beta! You're a rockstar, baby! <333

Jensen frowns as he wakes, eyes blinking blearily at the Misha-shaped hole between him and Jared on the bed. It makes the bed seem larger than it is, Jared so far away with his arms tucked under his pillow. His breathing is just shy of snoring, lips parted and dry.

The smell of coffee hangs heavy in the air and Jensen breathes deep, groaning on the exhale. He stretches out in the bed, arms wide and legs long. His knuckles brush over the crest of Jared's cheek; Jared's tongue peeks out to lick his lips, pink and wet, but he doesn't wake up. Not yet, at least.

Jensen sits up, eyes itchy and burning from leaving his contacts in overnight, and uses his feet to search for clothes that have been tossed carelessly to the floor. They hit soft flannel, a pair of pajama pants he's pretty sure are Jared's, and he slips them on. Sure enough, they're snug over his broader hips, but the cuffs pool at his feet.

Walking to the bathroom, he itches at a dry spot on his stomach and goes through the motions of his morning routine on autopilot: piss, wash hands, peel out the contacts, a splash of mouthwash, slip on his glasses. His stomach is rumbling by the time he finishes, calling to the salty smell of bacon in the air.

It's quiet as he makes his way downstairs and it takes him a minute to realize the dogs are missing. A quick glance out the patio doors shows all four of them rolling around in the dewy grass. The sight is not unlike bedtime for their owners; long arms grappling for each other, legs tangling. Icarus yelps and it sounds eerily similar to Misha when he's struggling to position himself as the big spoon behind both Jared and Jensen. Not that it matters, since he almost always ends up in the middle sometime during the night anyway.

One day, Jensen thinks, they'll have to set up a video camera to figure out how that happens.

Whistling draws his attention back to the kitchen, the tea kettle on the stove letting Misha know his water is ready. He steps into view then, wild dark hair sticking up in seventy-two directions, two days'-worth of stubble shadowing his chin. The t-shirt he's wearing is long. Too long. The hem of it stops just below his rear, showing off his powerful thighs and calves. He reaches into the cabinet above the stove for a mug and the shirt lifts, revealing the smooth, pale curve of his ass, the shadows between his legs. Jensen's cock gives an interested twitch in his -- Jared's -- pants.

He approaches Misha carefully, bare feet making no sound against the tile floor. His arm wraps around Misha's waist and he drags his fingernails against the thigh and hip, brushes a kiss against the corner of Misha's mouth. "Mornin'," Jensen greets, voice sleep-rough.

Misha hums a reply, presses against Jensen's fingertips as they follow the swell of his ass all the way up to the small of his back. His attention is mostly on the frying pan, but he glances up to shoot Jensen a small, tired smile; does a double-take and stares hotly at Jensen's face. Jensen attempts to look clueless as he leans on the counter next the stove, legs splayed wide and his arms crossed over his chest.

Even though it's not necessary, Misha keeps bumping against Jensen, mostly his thigh against Jensen's, but their arms, too, when he reaches for the tongs or the plate. Jensen only waits, smirking, until all the bacon is cooked and Misha tries to get to the fridge. Misha stops short, one foot in mid-air, when Jensen wraps his fingers around one slim wrist and tugs.

Misha tips against him, slim and solid, and Jensen's hands fall automatically, palms curving around muscular thighs. His thumbs find the crease where thigh meets ass and they sweep back and forth, gentle over soft skin. Misha shifts closer, easing the strain on Jensen's shoulders, and kisses Jensen good morning, tongue slow and searching.

He tastes like the chai tea he loves so much, with a spark of mint underneath, and he kisses Jensen like he needs to relearn the topography of his mouth all over again; tongue tracing the edges of his teeth, the ridges on his palate. It tangles softly with Jensen's, plush and slick, and Misha moans, the vibration of it shooting straight down Jensen's spine to his cock.

Jensen's fingers dig into the inside of Misha's thighs and pull them apart, just enough to give him some room, to do some searching of his own. Mainly, along the cleft of Misha's ass. He sweeps first at the perineum, the pad of his finger rubbing light at the thin skin. Then he moves up, following the warm, damp line of skin, expecting to find Misha dry or sticky and definitely tender. Instead he encounters hard rubber, a ring of it, that disappears into Misha.

He pulls out of Misha's kiss without warning. "Did you do that?" he gasps, eyes closed and his nose tucked against Misha's.

Misha rasps out, "Jared," and that's all Jensen needs for the scene to playback in his mind: Misha loose and fucked out, filled with Jensen's come. Jared's own slippery fingers circling, making sure none of it oozes out. Slim fingers wrapped around the base of the plug, twisting and pushing, _so_ slow. Misha whimpering and trying to thrust down onto it, but not having the energy.

Jensen's cock throbs painfully and he twists the plug just to hear Misha gasp. "All night?"

Misha nods, his nose bumping against Jensen's.

"Jesus," Jensen says, shocked and yet not, but mostly turned the fuck on. He pulls it out slow to drag the tip of it around Misha's hole, then thrusts it back in again without warning. The shock of it pushes Misha into Jensen and he can feel the heat of Misha's cock against his hip; Jensen's mouth waters.

He is reluctant to let the butt plug go, but he needs both hands on Misha's sides to ease himself to his knees, nipping a series of kisses along the line of Misha's breastbone. Jared's v-neck looks obscene on him, cut low and wide enough for it to slip off of one shoulder. His nipple peeks out, stiff in the cool air, and Jensen laps circles around it on his way down.

On his knees, Jensen sucks Misha through the t-shirt first, using his saliva and Misha's precome to get the material wet enough to cling. Misha's cock looks sluttier than it should like that, arching toward his belly. His balls hang just below the hem and Jensen leans forward, nuzzles them, inhaling Misha's salt-bitter scent.

His glasses fog up around the edges, the air there warm and damp, and he reaches up to take them off, but Misha's fists in his hair stop him. "Leave them on," he orders, tipping Jensen's head back in his painful-tight grip. Jensen blinks up at him, arousal fuzzing his brain, so Misha says again. "The glasses. They stay on."

Jensen knows that Misha is bossy, especially in bed with two partners that are bigger than him, but that tone of voice never fails to hit its target, settling low and heavy in the base of Jensen's spine.

He smooths his palms up Misha's flanks, pushing the shirt up with them, exposing his cock inch by silky inch. It's red and leaking, precome pearling at the tip and Jensen takes it all in one long swallow, hands letting Misha's shirt fall so he can circle one around the base, grip his hips tight with the other.

Jensen pulls off slow, dragging the flat of his tongue rough along the underside, makes a sucking wet sound after circling the crown. He does this a few times, eyes closed behind his fogged-up glasses, pulling the moans out of Misha with each deliberate movement. Misha's hips hitch into his damp, hot mouth, cock pulsing with each aborted thrust, but Jensen clings to the jut of bone, keeping Misha in place as best he can.

Just when he thinks he might have to use the other hand to keep Misha steady, Jensen feels cotton scratch against his knuckles. Wide hands slip under Misha's arms and around his belly, pulling the shirt up to smear through the mess of sweat and precome there. Jensen looks up through dark lashes, over the frame of his glasses, to see Misha's head tilted back, neck a long, elegant arch, as Jared fucks his tongue into Misha's mouth.

With Jared's hand on one hip and Jensen's on the other, Misha has no choice but to stay in place, which means Jensen can tease the orgasm out of Misha instead of opting for the quick and dirty route.

Jensen starts by nipping his way down Misha's length, pinching the skin between his lips, until he reaches the base. He continues from there to Misha's balls, sucking one, then the other into his mouth. The tip of his tongue sweeps back and forth along the raphe and, above him, Misha is groaning; long, low sounds that vibrate all along his skin, under Jensen's fingertips.

His other hand never leaves Misha's cock, though he keeps the tunnel of his fingers loose as he works it up and down. The friction is slightly rough, and Jensen laps at the sides, wet little kitten-licks, to ease the way.

Dimly, Jensen hears a broken cry and he looks up. Misha's head is tipped back against Jared's shoulder, giving him room to suck a bruise into the smooth column of it, and Jared's free hand is missing. Jensen doesn't think about it at first, concentrates on alternating slow, soft bobs with faster, wetter ones. Then Misha pulls away, cock grazing Jensen's teeth and nearly slipping out of his hand, and Jensen gets it.

The hand from Misha's hip slips between his legs, thumbnail scraping against the perineum, to find two of Jared's fingers sinking in and out of Misha. Jensen circles Misha's rim, smearing the cool come all around the edge until he, too, slips in, one finger alongside of Jared's.

Misha may have had the butt plug in all night, but it wasn't all that wide, so the stretch is still tight around their three thick fingers. He thrusts back on it anyway, fucking himself more on their fingers than into Jensen's mouth. Jensen shuffles forward on sore knees so Misha can do both.

He gags a little at first, under the force of Misha's hips, but then his mouth opens just that much wider, and the head of Misha's cock bumps against the soft, wet inside over and over again. Jensen swallows around it, taking in the salty tang of him and looks up again; at Misha's head fallen forward, his chin tucked into his chest, the dark fan of lashes on his cheeks.

Jared is watching Jensen from over Misha's shoulders, eyes gone black, lips parted and panting. He licks at them, a quick flash of tongue, and says, "Add another, Jen. He can take it, can't you, Mish?" He nips at the thin skin under Misha's ear, eyes remaining on Jensen.

Jensen's fingers tighten around Misha's cock reflexively, and the _fuck_ Misha sighs makes Jensen's own cock pulse, precome soaking through his pants. He does add a second finger as Misha's hips slow, the fit of Misha around his fingers silky hot and snug. Underneath Misha's whimpers and the low murmur of Jared whispering filth into his ear, Jensen can hear the wet squelch of his come and the lube. He drowns it out by sucking wetly at Misha's cock, humming as he bobs up and down the length.

Between the two of them, they seem to be hitting Misha just where he needs it, his harsh, broken cries echoing loud in the empty kitchen. Jensen needs to hurry things along himself, if the dull throb in his groin is any indication. It doesn't take much; the rough pad of his thumb to the bundle of nerves just underneath the crown combined with the velvety underside of his tongue sweeping over the slit. Misha comes hard, spurting hot down Jensen's throat as he yells out curses aimed mostly at Jensen.

The tight clutch of him around Jensen and Jared's fingers is almost too much. Jensen has to pull out slow and grabs for Misha's thighs, come and lube smearing over sweat-slick skin, to help keep him up. The muscles underneath his fingers tremble, weak and sated, while Jensen sucks Misha clean; soft, easy suction against over-sensitive skin.

Jensen looks up to see Jared's hands tucked under Misha's arms and together they ease him down to the floor. He hisses and bucks when heated skin meets cold tile, so Jensen tugs the hem of the shirt down. It isn't much, but it's the best he can do.

Finally, he can pull his pajama pants down, his cock arching wet and painfully hard toward his stomach. Behind Misha, Jared is doing the same. Trying to, anyway, with Misha still limp and sprawled against his side, it's an awkward tangle of limbs as he tries to push his boxer briefs down. Neither one of them can get their pants off completely, but around their knees is good enough.

Jared's hand wraps around Jensen's wrists and tugs, almost making Jensen faceplant. His palm slaps flat against the floor, just shy of punching Jared in the groin and he scoots forward, straddles Jared's thighs. He leans into Jared, grinding their cocks together, and manages to free one ankle, letting him settle in Jared's lap better.

His hand is sticky and warm, wrapping around both their cocks. Jensen’s head drops automatically to look at the long fingers wrapped around him. The base of the butt plug is still hooked around Jared’s pinky finger, lube and come glinting bright off of red silicone, and that…That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Jensen swallows hard, thrusts into the circle of Jared’s fingers on reflex, so close to the edge already, just from Misha's needy little sounds and the taste of him on the back of Jensen's tongue. He braces his hands on Jared's shoulders and pulls him in, bumping his wet, open mouth against Jared's. It's not a kiss, but it's enough, the tips of their noses smashing together every time Jensen rolls his hips.

Then there's a second hand on him, on the both of them, slimmer fingers slotting between Jared's. Misha collects himself enough to want to participate and Jensen can't take much more than that. His vision dims at the edges and his balls tighten and he can barely hear Jared say, "Jen, I'm gonna--" before Misha flicks his nail at Jensen's slit.

Jensen hears a long, gritty, "Fuck," but doesn't register it as his own. All he can feel is the tightness in his chest and the wet heat on his belly and two hands still pumping him, rough over sensitized flesh. Each stroke makes him twitch and he wants them to stop and keep going, he can't decide which. They end up making the decision for him long moments later when he collapses against Jared's chest, tired and boneless.

Jared tips under the weight, yelping as his back hits the floor. With Jensen nothing more than a rag doll on top of him, though, he has nowhere to go, too weak yet to try and maneuver Jensen anywhere. He strokes his fingertips down the line of Jensen's spine, soft and soothing, and next to them, Misha somehow manages to get his legs under him. Through slitted eyes, Jensen watches his feet at the sink; from this angle, the bones of his ankles look more fragile than usual.

Of course, that could be the post-orgasm haze talking.

Misha returns with a damp dishcloth and holds it out to Jensen, who reaches instead for Misha's wrist and pulls him down to their level. He sits cross legged, t-shirt stretched out by his thighs, and Jensen tries not to focus on the soft, dark swell of Misha's cock underneath. "Too soon," Jensen mumbles to himself, thumb and forefinger pushing his glasses up to rub at the bridge of his nose. "Too fucking soon."

Underneath him, Jared is chuckling. Jensen can feel the vibration of it through his chest. He props his head up, the point of his chin digging into Jared's rib cage, and ignores Jared’s soft 'ow'.

Jensen frowns. "What's so funny?"

"You, man," Jared says, smiling. Misha spears his fingers through Jensen's sweat-damp hair, combing it away from his face; Jensen tilts his head into the pressure.

"That was not quite what we expected last night, but it'll do." Jared's eyes are mostly hazel now, but there is still a heat in them, sparking back at Jensen, and his vision goes soft again, just thinking about the two of them plotting with Jensen not quite passed out, but definitely oblivious, next to them. “Also, your glasses are sharp, dude.” His eyebrows flicker down as he pulls them off.

Jensen huffs, amused. "Yeah, well." He pauses, but there really is no defense for what just happened, and neither of them want one anyway, so he shimmies away a little until he can pillow his head on Jared's stomach. Misha's still smoothing his hand through Jensen's hair, and it's all Jensen can do not to purr. Even with the unforgiving tile underneath him and the sticky mess on his belly, pajama pants still hanging off one of his feet, Jensen thinks he could spend the rest of the day right where he is.

Just before he dozes off, he hears Misha murmur, "Are those my boxers?"

Jensen sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, obstinatrix and I had a Twitter conversation wherein we wanted more threesome porn. A [J2M lovefest](http://dizzzylu.livejournal.com/5941.html) was born. I meant to clean this up a few days after the fest was over and post 'properly,' but I never did. This seems to have gotten a lot of love in recent weeks, so I thought, "why not?" 
> 
> Ta da *jazz hands*


End file.
